


Hidden in the scars

by AppolloFleur



Category: Bónus ljóð | Bonus Poetry - Andri Snær Magnason, POE Edgar Allan - Works
Genre: Dark Poetry, Other, Poetry, Vent Poetry, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 03:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18682861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppolloFleur/pseuds/AppolloFleur
Summary: If emotions where a language this is how ive felt all my life.





	Hidden in the scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My future self](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+future+self).



Lighter to tongue, make all fast.

Friends, love, and foes, duel to last

A ghost in your past, relentless.

You always wake up.

Dreams are dreams, mares simply chilled.

unless you don’t succumb to reality.

the Cannibal is sweet, an inquiry.

lightening is dark. Misconception.

The neck snaps in the dead of the ---

Stop wondering as clear runs lark.

What’s this? A man in thought?

If I smile with my teeth,

No signs do show of the voice in mind.

Through my eyes although

And through crimson, you know

And with no further breath,

A silent blow.

Slowly, ever so slowly, fell to my knee

calf to soil, head to reef.

No quick demise is deaths tease.

Lower, lower, blood ripping the seams.

‘what have you done’ voiced a man’s screams

You’ve sprawled the colors of your own mind onto the people you need!

Your own kind! With ruthless greed!

Don’t question now, Suffer they will,

bloody ink, iron quill

rewrite the plot you failed to score

Though this time, things will miss course

The things you expect, will be no more

No armored night, no stoned horse.

Like a lonely gull, peck the absent shore

Of a dead artists mind, monochromatic madness.

The drip-drip-dripping of the words from my tongue

Mixed with the rap-tap-tapping of my ears, how they rung.

Another dead, though sure, not quite.

Their breaths still flow, but not with mine.

Not tonight

-Appollo Fleur


End file.
